The Lost Ones
by Treklocked Asgardian
Summary: Surrounding the events of 1x09. Abbie's vision didn't end after Lachlan Fredericks was impaled. There was another child brought into the world that night... Sent into the future for their own protection, Remy and Nicholas Crane have grown up in our time. Now, evil has come for them, and the one place they may find safety is with the man they've never known: their father.
1. Chapter 1

This idea has been in my head since the very first episode. After Abbie's vision in "Sin Eater" and the events of "Sanctuary", my idea wasn't as random, so I thought I'd flesh it out! I'll be trying to intertwine my plot with that of the show as best I can. I may wind up taking this story fully AU and sticking to my own plot 100%, but we shall see.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own Sleepy Hollow. Remy, Nic, and Alliyah's Coven, however, are mine.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

I cannot sleep, I cannot dream tonight.

I need somebody and always.

This sick, strange darkness comes creeping on.

So haunting every time.

- I Miss You, Blink 182

Howling winds shake the building's weak foundations. Pale moonlight streams through the lone window in the west, illuminating the floorboards. The cabin is barren, save for a stove, cracked sink, and two twin cots. Upon said cots lay two resting figures. The first, a girl of 18, unconsciously hugs her knees in sleep. The other, a boy of the same age, lies stiff. His hand clutches a hidden knife as he sleeps.

"You have to go," urges a soothing voice in the quiet night. "Both of you must go. Hurry now! _Awaken and flee!_" The girl sits up wildly, eyes scanning the room. Her hands tremble. Without a word, she shakes the boy, pulling at his arm. He starts, calming as his eyes adjust and the face before him becomes familiar.

"Christ, Remy! I've told you not to-" The girl puts a finger to her lips, eyes darting toward the main door. The silence is deafening. The boy slowly rises, knife at the ready, grabbing a backpack from the foot of the bed. They back hesitantly toward the toilet stall. The girl, Remy, lifts a tattered rug at the foot of the toilet, revealing a hatch. A crash at the door makes them jump, eyes wide, adrenaline pumping through their veins at lightning speed. The boy quickly rips open the hatch. "Go!" he barks. Not hesitating, Remy climbs down the metal latter attached to the tunnel revealed. Eyes on the door, he follows her, making sure to pull the rug back before finally closing the hatch.

Only moments later does the door finally splinter and fall.

* * *

It is Thanksgiving Eve, and in a cozy office of the Sleepy Hollow PD are two differing souls. More specifically, Jenny Mills is returning the guns she 'borrowed' from Capt. Frank Irving during the Horseman fiasco. Per usual, their conversation consists of snark and goodnatured banter, eventually concluding in Jenny being politely told to leave.

"I was thinking," she says, standing near the door. "of having people over for Thanksgiving dinner to say thank you to Abbie for taking me in, and I thought, you know… if you didn't have any plans…"

"You're gonna cook?" asks Frank incredulously.

"... I can cook."

"So this is a normal dinner-type thing. You make turkey and gravy and I bring some pie? Crane and Mills will be there?"

"Yup."

"We act like normal people for a change."

"One night only, I promise. Then I go back to stealing from you," she smirks. Miracle of miracles, friendly laughter fills the room, coupled with a ringing phone. "I better get this. See you tomorrow?"

"I'll be there," smiles the Captain. "Night, Mills."

Sauntering out of the office, Jenny leans on a wall, flipping open the phone. "Hello?"

"Jenny?" says a trembling female voice.

"Who is this?"

"It's-it's Remy. And Nic. He's here too. Um, when you have a minute-" she exhales shakily. A sniffle is heard through the line. "We need your help. Can we meet up?"

"Yeah, sure. Of course," replies Jenny, making her way toward the nearest exit. "Where are you?"

"Sleepy Hollow. There's a few buildings near us. A diner. Gramma Mayley's."

"I'll be there in five. Jen out."

* * *

Gramma Mayley's, a rusty old shack on the edge of town, barely meets health regulations. Floral wallpaper from the 70's is peeling off the walls, a scraped up wood floor patched up with miscellaneous pieces of wood. There are only a few customers looming about, so it isn't hard to locate the two teenagers. Jenny slides into a booth in the back opposite the two.

Remy is thin as a rain, skin ashen, russet locks pulled back into a messy ponytail. One of her hands has a deep cut to the palm, dried blood still on her skin. There are heavy bags under both her and her brother's eyes. Nic is in no better a state. Brown hair hangs in his eyes, a jagged scar running from his left temple to mid-cheek. One cheek is smudges with dirt, specks of what Jenny suspects to be blood mixed in as well. They are skin and bones at best, shivering at the slightest gust of air. Both of the teens are wearing ripped jeans and thread-barren tops. Taking in this ghastly sight, Jenny asks in shock, "What happened to you?"

"A long time ago, you said we could call you if we really needed help… We really need help," says Nic. "We know a lot of people owe you favors, and we thought maybe… maybe you'd call one in. Get us a place to stay for a couple nights? Please, Ms Jenny."

"We can pay you if you want," offers Remy, trembling hand holding out a couple worn dollar bills."

"I won't take your money. Keep it," she says. "Now I'll ask again: what happened to you?"

"We can't say," Nic immediately replies.

Calling their bluff, Jenny states, "No explanation, no deal. Sorry."

She moves to leave when Remy grabs her hand. "The monster came back," whispers the girl.

"Remy, shut up!"

"No, what did you say?" pushes Jenny.

Remy looks up fearfully, seeming tiny in the big booth. "I said the monster came back. The monster _He_ sent."

"Who is He?" asks Jenny.

"Do you have a pen?" asks Nic.

Confused, Jenny says, "Um, yeah. I think so." Fishing one out of her bag, she hands it to him. Nic pulls a napkin from the metal dispenser and writes out six letters before sliding it over to Jenny.

M-O-L-O-C-H

"He sent demons to get us," says Nic.

Jenny stares wide eyed at the kids. "Give me a few hours," she says. "I think I know someone who can help."

"Wait, you believe us?" asks a shocked Nic.

"Yeah, I do. _Why_ I believe you is a long story. I'll explain later. For now, stay here until I come back. If anyone on staff gives you trouble, tell them Jenny Mills told you to stay. The owner owes me one."

"Yes, Ms Jenny," say the twins.

Yanking open the door, Jenny turns back. "Hey Penny!" she shouts in the direction of the kitchen. "Get these two something to eat! Whatever they want! It's on me."

Exiting the building, the Witness' sister pulls out her cell phone and dials in a number. "Abbie, call me back the minute you get this. I've got some friends who need you and Crane's help. Your demon buddy/monster/leader/whatever the hell you want to call him is after them too."

* * *

A/N: This is a bit of an awkward beginning, I apologize. Trying to work in the show's dialogue was giving me issues. Also, I don't have a beta, so any mistakes are my own.


	2. Chapter 2

Aaaaaah okay, I love this fandom! I received so many reviews and such from you lovely people, and all I can say is - to quote our beloved Mr Crane - "I am most grateful for it." On another note, I'd like to point out that I've had my OCs named for a number of weeks. I say this because in 1x10 **(*KIND OF A MINI SPOILER DEPENDING ON HOW FAR INTO THE SHOW YOU ARE*)**, we learn that Ichy's son was named Jeremy... Jeremy… jeREMY. Weird coincidence, right? Anywho, on with the show! *triumphantly flings cape behind me*

Sadly, I don't own Sleepy Hollow. Nic and Remy are mine though!

* * *

**Chapter 2**

"I'm here without you, baby,

but you're still on my lonely mind.

I think about you, baby,

and I dream about you all the time."

- _Here Without You_, 3 Doors Down

It keeps playing over and over in her head, a broken record of a father's heartbreak that Abbie can't turn off. When Abbie told Ichabod of her vision at the Manor, his face said it all. His heart shattered with every word that left her lips. He had had a child. A son. One that he would never see smile, one he would never hold or chase or laugh with. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? No, hell hath no fury like a vengeful father. While she herself had not witnesses Ichabod's facing the Scarecrow, she had seen the bloody aftermath. Ichabod now sits slumped against a wall in the archives, reflecting on the night. The Scarecrow's blood has all been cleaned away, but the events and discoveries of the night still weigh heavy on his mind. "A son," he repeats in his head like a mantra. "I had a son." Seeing the emotional wounds of her comrade, Abbie opens up.

"When I was a kid," she begins. "I remember walking down the street, passing houses on my block, looking in windows... seeing people - families - sitting around tables, laughing, carving turkeys… I was just so envious. I wanted that more than anything."

"I _had_ it, back in England. During my father's holidays from teaching at Oxford, I'd sit by the hearth and he'd regale me with glorious tales of Ancient Greece… and I really believed that one day," he pauses, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I would follow in his footsteps. I'd be a professor in my own right, yet upheld by his pride in me; and that one day I would have a son, and I'd share that same comfort that I felt so freely."

"I'm guessing that's what the point of all this is," says Abbie. "The time for reflection. You see what you have now, and you embrace what's in front of you." Ichabod offers her a tight smile at this. Abbie sends him one in return, equally fake. Breaking the sadness is Ichabod's recollection of the box from New York. From that box comes a familial discovery. "My ancestor helped bring your son into this world," says Abbie with a true grin.

"Quite heroically," nods Ichabod. "I see the family resemblance. It seems that you and I… our paths were entwined from the very start."

Abbie nods in agreement before setting the box down firmly and grabbing the bottle of forgotten rum. "Let's have a drink. It's a day of giving thanks." Dear Mr. Crane grabs a pair of mugs from a table, and the female Witness pours them both drinks.

"To family," she says, raising her mug.

"To _finding_ family," says he, doing the same. No sooner have they sipped their rum than Abbie's phone shouts. In big letters across the phone reads 'Jenny Mills calling'. "Do you need to answer that?" asks Ichabod.

Abbie looks at the phone, and then to her partner - the same partner who'd only just learned of a child he would never know. Setting the phone back into her bag, she shakes her head. "It can wait. Now, we drink."

Ichabod grins warmly. "Then drink we shall."

* * *

"Dammit Abbie!" snaps Jenny. "Answer your damn phone!" Remy sits on a bus stop bench, Nic asleep on her shoulder. Days had passed wherein the boy had gotten maybe six hours of sleep in total. Remy gently rests her head on his, letting her eyes drift shut. "Come on you two," Jenny shouts, already walking down the pavement. Nudging her brother awake, the timid redhead stands and scurries to catch up.

"Where are we going?"

"Havenport Motel. I talked to my buddy Travis earlier. He's gonna let you guys stay there for a while."

Nic's weary eyes light up. "Really?"

The innocent excitement in his eyes brings a smile to Jenny's face. "Yeah. He's a nice guy. You'll like him. Now come on!" The twins come scuttling after her as she strolls down the pavement. The farther they walk, the more cracked the pavement becomes. The Havenport Motel is in a quieter pocket of Sleepy Hollow. Small business owners and the elderly populate the area, crime being virtually nonexistent. The little motel is just that: little. Painted a bright yellow, it is cheery and quaint, with clean rooms and a nice yard in the back for the visiting children to play in. A quarter of an hour passes before the three of them arrive. A man of average heights awaits them. His face is angular, hair buzzed off. Grey eyes sparkle as they land upon the face of his friend. "Jen! It's good to see you!"

"Hey Trav. Travis, these are the kids I was telling you about. Guys, this is Travis Biel. He owns the place."

"Nice to meet you," they say quietly, shaking the man's hand.

"Likewise," he says. "Look, Jenny told me your story, and I just want you to know that if you need anything, just ring me up. My phone number is attached to the phone in all the rooms. I know it's hard coming out of the system. I've been there. If there's anything I can do to make it easier for you, just ask."

"Thanks," says Nic. Jenny ushers the kids down a long hall, stopping at a large blue door with 108 painted on it.

"Here we go," she says, handing Remy a silver key. "This is your room. I've gotta run, so I'll leave you two to get settled, okay? Call me if you need anything."

"Miss Jenny?"

She turns back to the kids. "Yeah, Rem?"

"What exactly did you tell that guy?"

"Oh right. I couldn't exactly tell him you have demons on your tail, so I… stretched the truth a bit."

"You lied," states Nic.

"Not totally. I told Travis that you two just left a really bad foster house, and were trying to adjust to life outside the system. You are coming from a bad house, and you were in the system, so it's not a total lie…"

"Alright. Thank you again," says Remy.

"No problem, kid," smiles the younger Mills sister. "See you later."

**-Nic's POV-**

"God I need a shower," I groan as Remy removes the key from the door. "I have enough shit in my hair to fill a museum."

"I'd like to see the museum that would take it," snorts my sister, slinging our pack onto one of the two twin beds. The pack is worn as all hell, but then again, so are our clothes, so at least it matches. Remy pulls everything out, setting our possessions out on the foot of the bed for inspection. This is a tradition whenever we find a solid place after a run: we make sure it's all here and it's all intact. "Let's see… Med Kit? Check. Emergency cell phone? Check. Rations? Check. We need more dried fruit though. We're running low."

I grimace. "That stuff tastes like cow dung."

"Hey, I'm not disagreeing, but it's easy to pack," states Remy. "Extra set of clothes? Muddy, but check. Tablet for research? Check. Aaaaand grimoire? Check! We are good to go… Or stay, I guess."

"Wallet?"

She pats her pockets and nods. "Got it."

"Good. Now I can shower," I exclaim, turning on my heels and strolling in the bathroom. Hot showers are a luxury when you're running for your life from demons sent from hell to brutally murder you. That is why I, to quote my sister, 'take longer than the damn Revolution' when I do have the pleasure of hot water. It is one of the few times in this bat-shit crazy life that I can stop, breathe, and not freak out about demons and creature of the night. My skin is riddled with scars from over the years, the most prominent ones being the scar on my cheek. There is another, slightly less prominent scar running from my right hip bone up, ending just below my left nipple. Having had a good - and by good I mean freaking fantastic - meal at Gramma Mayley's has helped diminish the "skin and bones" look of my body, if only a little. Hopefully things will stay calm enough for Remy and I to get healthy again.

As I climb into bed, pleasant warmth clinging to my skin, I notice Remy's medallion is resting beside mine on the nightstand. They are gold, and more special than anything we own, barring the grimoire. I lift up Remy's medallion, running my thumb over the back. The latch - invisible to all but those who bare my father's name - pops open, revealing a small portrait. Mother looks beautiful, as always. Her red hair, the same as that of my twin, sits loose on her shoulder. To her right is a smiling man dressed in his Sunday best. My father. His eyes, from what I am told, were blue like mine. "I miss you, Dad," I whisper into the night. Setting down the necklace, I nestle into bed and let sleep overtake me.

* * *

A black and white wasteland greets my eyes upon their opening. "Remy?"

"Nic? Are we-"

I cut her off. "Yup, we're in Purgatory."

_"Fantastic."_

"Hello, my loves," says a melodic voice. We turn, and meet the eye of the woman who birthed us.

"Hey Mom."

"Hi Mama," says Remy. "Bent u goed?"

"Nee, mijn zoon. I haven't much time, but you must know that you both are in danger."

"That's nothing new," I mutter.

"The darkened sisters will come for you. They are closing in as we speak."

"Well, how do we stop them?" asks Remy.

"Better yet, _who are they_?" I ask. "What are we up against?"

"Listen to me. You must find the Elder's Script. It is the only way to ward off the dark." The winds start picking, black leaves rustling about. "He is coming."

"Mama?"

"You must go!" she says fearfully. "Find the Elder's Script! It is the only way! _Find it!_"

"MOM!" I bolt upright in the darkened motel room. Wiping the cold sweat from my brow, I turn to see my twin doing the same. "Did you see-"

"Yeah," she confirms shakily. "I saw it."

"Okay, better question: what the hell is the Elder Script?"

"No idea. Guess that's up to us to figure out."

I groan. "_Fantastic_."

* * *

The night is silent. Every forest-dwelling creature is without sound, the wind moving at an agonizingly slow pace. In a darkened corner of the woods stands a cloaked figure, arm outstretched. A crow's cackle intrudes upon the silence. Black wings flutter before the creature lands upon said outstretched arm.

Turning inward, the figure descends into the bowels of the earth via dark, torchlit corridors. Rats scurry to and fro, but part when the cloak comes into their line of view. It turns a sharp left and enters a cold, stone room lit by a single candle. Surrounding the candle is a circle of five other cloaked figures. The bird lets loose a screech as the sixth figure joins the circle. She states simply, "It is time." The crow flies from her arm to that of the figure directly across from her. This figure lifts her onyx eyes up from the floor, looking out onto the circle. Flames errupt around them, licking their coattails but never burning the six people. The onyx-eyed woman bears a sinister grin, raven black hair framing her face. "Let us begin."

* * *

A/N: "Bent u goed" and "Nee, mijn zoon" mean "Are you well" and "No, my son" in Dutch. I'm sorry for any mistakes in Dutch - I used Google Translate, which isn't perfect. Also, I still don't have a Beta, so any mistakes are my own.


	3. Chapter 3

I had intended to post this chapter a week ago, but then school happened, so… yeah. I'm officially on Winter Break, so I should be able to post more frequently now! Huzzah! Once again, thank you for all the lovely reviews, lovely people! Te adoro~

I still don't own Sleepy Hollow. Boo.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

"Oh there's no place like home for the holidays,

for no matter how far away you roam,

when you long for the sunshine of a friendly gaze -

for the holidays, you can't beat home sweet home."

- _Home for the Holidays_, Perry Como

Seeking a method by which he could exercise his anger, Ichabod decided to take out said anger on a defenseless stack of lumber. Abbie stood back and let him hack away. "I get why you're upset," she said.

"Do you now?" he stated more than asked.

"You find out you had a son, and never got to know him. I am sorry, Crane. If I were you, I'd be taking an ax to something too."

He sighed and seated himself on the chopping block. "My head is swimming with questions. What was he_ like_? Did he know of me? How did he live?" He paused to collect himself. "And why did Katrina not tell me she was with child?"

"She put you in that cave to protect you," said Abbie. "I gotta assume she kept it a secret for the same reason."

"Moloch hunted them both down centuries ago. While I'm yet to know the reason, it suggests that their fates will come to bear in our war against him now. That is why we must find out what happened to my son. We should start by endeavoring to contact Katrina."

"How do you plan on doing that exactly? When she came to me it seemed like she had to move mountains to do it. Those were some pretty freaky mountains." The creaking of a faded yellow taxi pulling up to the cabin echoed through the clearing. "You expecting company?"

"Indeed. The only man I know capable of moving 'freaky mountains'." From said car emerged Henry Parrish. After some convincing, Mr. Parrish agreed to help in Ichabod's endeavor. It is for this reason that our dear Mr. Crane now finds himself being strangled by his ally. The cabins fades into blackness, and Ichabod finds himself in a church lit by grey light. Looming candelabras and wooden pews are covered by billowing sheets. There are candles sporadically lit throughout the room. On a small stage at the front of the room, a black pram, also covered by a sheet, moves toward the edge. Moving quickly, Ichabod reaches out and stops it. Cautiously, he removes the sheet, only to find the pram empty of life. A small white pillow rests inside, adorned with two gold buttons. Upon one of the buttons is the letter S, the other bearing the letter J. A match is struck behind the kneeling man. He immediately knows the identity of the person who struck it. "Katrina." She wears a black, off-the-shoulder gown extending down to the floor. Her eyes widen when she sees her husband.

"Oh no no no," panics she. "How are you here?"

"The Sin Eater," he explains simply.

"Moloch is always near. If he learns of your presence-"

"Is it true we have a son?"

Deafening silence echoes through the church. Katrina's eyes flit nervously from the face of her husband to the floor, and then back again. Finally, the sorceress speaks."I would've told you when you first awoke. We have fleeting hopes and precious time."

"We made a covenant when we married! You owe me the truth," he says sternly, control slipping just so. "His name?"

"Jeremy," she breathes. "Our son's name is Jeremy, after your grandfather." A tear falls down her cheek. Her husband's eyes are glistening as well, but tears do not fall from his eyes. "I did not know I was with child when I buried you in that cave. Fortunately neither did my coven. They sought to punish me for saving your life. It was only when I fled to Europe in search of a spell to unbind you from the Horseman that I learned of my condition. When my quest failed, I returned home to my coven's relentless pursuit… I knew then that they would not stop until they had us both, so I fled to the only sanctuary I knew: Fredricks' Manor. I delivered our son under Lauchlin and Grace's care. He was the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen-" A loud crash startles the couple. The large wooden door of the church trembles from the blow. Monstrous roaring can be heard from the other side. "He is here. You must leave. Release your will to be here and you will return to your realm. Do it now!"

"Katrina-"

"Go!"

In a flash, the cabin returns to view. The soldier's startled eyes flash up to Henry as he scrambles to stand. Abbie is quick to support him. Leaning on the couch, Ichabod looks to the Sin Eater. "You-you strangled me!"

"He means 'thank you'," interjects Abbie. She turns back to the panting revolutionary. "What did you find out?"

"...The fate of my son remains a mystery."

Abbie offers him a sad smile, resting her hand on his shoulder. "We'll do everything we can to find out what happened to him, Crane. I promise." One of the soldier's calloused hand finds hers, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"If my memory serves," he says, taking the subject in a lighter direction. "You have an engagement this evening that you wished to prepare for?"

"Right! The Christmas party!" she exclaims, releasing his hand. Abbie retrieves her bag from the dining table. "Are you coming tonight?"

"I am unsure at present, Leftenant."

"Alright," she pauses. "You should come though. I know mingling with strangers and having pointless conversations may not sound all too appealing right now, but it might be good to get your mind off everything for a night."

"I shall consider it," he states. Abbie looks him over for a moment before nodding and exiting. Ichabod rings his hands, figurative gears turning in his head. Golden light of the setting sun streams in through the cabin windows, illuminating the man.

Henry interrupts his thoughts. "You should accompany her. She is right that it would be good for you, Mister Crane."

"After all I have learned today," says the exhausted soldier, pacing slowly. "I don't know how good of company I would be in my present state."

"That's fine," replies the Sin Eater.

Ichabod quirks an eyebrow, surprised by the man's flippant dismissal. "Really?"

"Yes. I cannot order you to go. It will merely be unfortunate that Abbie has to face him alone."

"_He_?" asks Ichabod, taking a step toward his guest. The suggested danger to his partner has the soldier on high alert.

"Luke Morales," he states. "Her former beau. He is not the most even-tempered man, and still is quite upset with Abigail due to her ending their relationship."

"You believe she is in danger by being in his presence?"

"I cannot say for sure." There is a twinkle in the elder's eye. The soldier's mind is too busy at work to notice, therefore keeping the Sin Eater's scheme from being discovered.

Ichabod is quiet, brows pulled together. At last, he takes his trademark coat from the coatrack and slings it over his arm. "While I would love to stay and chat, Mister Parrish, my presence is required elsewhere."

As the soldier takes his leave, the old man grins mischievously.

* * *

Tinsel is strung about the precinct, plastic stars hanging from the light fixtures. An old jukebox resides in the corner, playing classic Christmas tunes. A row of stockings are hung by a fake fireplace, each bearing the name of an officer. Candles are lit around the room, giving the room both a literal and figurative feeling of warmth.

"Happy holidays, everyone!" shouts Captain Irving, raising a soda-filled cup. "It's been a good year, and I'm proud of all the work you've done. Cheers!" The crowd of cops cheers in response. In the corner of the room is the younger Mills sister, dressed in black, skin tight jeans and a gold holiday sweater. The sweater clings to her muscular form, dipping down to show just the slightest bit of her décolletage, resulting in stares from many of the male officers.

"Crashing the party, Mills?"

"Well, I rarely get to dress up anymore, what with all the Horseman drama and my lack of a social life. Also, since that Thanksgiving dinner never happened, I figured I'd grace the precinct with my presence."

"How thoughtful," says the captain sarcastically.

"So Cap, I've got a question for you."

"Yes?"

"How mad do you think your fellow cops would be if I jacked the box of peppermint bark from the table?"

"They'd be annoyed, but they'd live. Why?"

"I'm meeting up with some friends later, and-"

"Miss Jenny, I do apologize for the interruption, but has your sister arrived yet?" Ichabod rocks back and forth on his heels, hands clasped in front of him.

"Nope, not yet, Crane. And hey, ease up! It's a party. Have fun!"

"I-" he sighs. "You are right. I shall endeavor to 'ease up'." He glances around the room, taking in the sights and sounds of a modern day Christmas party. His eyes find Luke, who stands in a corner, conversing with a friend. The tension in Ichabod's shoulders is obvious to anyone who happens to look his way. It eases only upon seeing his partner walk through the door. Abbie is a vision in red. Her teacup dress has just the slightest sleeve, a corset-style top hugging her body. The hem falls just past her knees. Glittery earrings hang amongst her curls, matching the glittery platform flats on her feet. Her milk chocolate eyes sweep over the room, falling on her partner. A smile graces her lips as he strides over to her.

"Miss Mills."

"Crane."

"You are…" He searches for words. "...a vision."

A slight flush spreads over her cheeks. "You don't look too bad yourself." The two fail to notice the scheming captain and younger Mills sister whispering across the room. The two are both smirking, eyes alight with delight.

"Hey sis!"

Abbie looks past Ichabod toward her sister. "Yeah?"

"Look up!"

Both Witnesses glance above their heads. Perhaps a dozen mistletoe twigs tied together with a red ribbon are hanging from a hook on the ceiling. "Mistletoe," observes the soldier.

"_That_ you recognize?"

"An...enduring tradition," he stutters nervously. "And the imminent peril of all the pretty housemaids." His eyes fall to his partner, who is glancing anywhere but Ichabod.

One female officer standing nearby, secretly sent by the captain, comments with a smirk, "We mustn't neglect our traditions."

"I am inclined to agree," murmurs Ichabod.

Abbie huffs, flushing. "You really want to do this, Crane?"

"I see no reason not to. After all, we would simply be following holiday tradi-" He is cut off by Abbie pressing her lips to his. Not even Nicholas Sparks could write a kiss of such passion. A shock, not unlike the figurative sparks discussed in all romantic literature since the dawn of time, is felt by the both of them. What starts as chaste and for tradition's sake rapidly evolves into something more. The two break away after a minute, lungs begging for air. Both sets of eyes are wide, surprised at their own actions. "I-" He clears his throat. "That was-"

"Tradition," says Abbie quickly. "Just following tradition."

He stands a bit straighter, regaining his composure. "Right. Of course. Shall we rejoin the festivities?"

"Let's." Abbie pretends not to notice the knowing looks of her coworkers. The captain turns to congratulate his newfound partner-in-schemes on a job well done, only to find her gone.

* * *

It is a quiet night in Havenport Motel room 108. Nic and Remy are sitting crosslegged on the bed by the window. Before them is a modest spread of food. Using money received from Jenny, the twins purchased a large baked potato, a green salad, and a mini turkey. Nearly every year since their arrival, the twins have celebrated Christmas three days prior. With danger constantly looming, celebrating on the actual holiday became an impossibility.

"Not bad," says Nic. "A lot better than last year. What did we have? Two sandwiches and a candy bar?"

"Not even that. It was one sandwich we had to split in half," replies Remy. Silence settles over the room. The lamp on the desk flickers. Christmas music from a room down the hall drifts in from under the door. For both of the children, memories of horrible Christmases dance through their heads. Lives lost, injuries sustained, mental and physical scars received... "Let's dig in," she says finally, breaking through the fog.

"Not going to wait for me?" asks a muffled voice from outside. Nic hops off the bed and peers through the peephole on the door. Smiling, he opens the door to greet their guest. "Didn't think I'd forget, did you?" smiles Jenny, giving Nic a quick hug.

"We thought you might have had work," explains Remy, who also hops up for a hug.

"Nope. I just had to stop and pick up a little something." From behind her back, Jenny produces a red and white striped box.

"You brought peppermint bark!" exclaims Remy, clapping her hands together.

"And that's not all." Jenny reaches down outside the room and picks up two small bags, one green, one red. "Remy, you're red. Nic, you're green." While the twins dig into their gifts, Jenny settles onto the bed, removing her coat. From the green bag comes a navy blue scarf. A gold N is stitches on one end of the fabric. From the red bag comes an emerald green scarf adorned with a gold R.

"They're beautiful," breathes Remy, tears in her eyes. Nic says nothing, a brilliant smile on his lips.

"Merry Christmas, you two."

"Merry Christmas, Miss Jenny," they say simultaneously, embracing her tightly.

Jenny returns the embrace, laughing. "Enough of the 'Miss' bull. You've known me for years. Just Jenny is fine." They nod. "Now let's eat!"

The three lost souls perch on the motel room bed, digging into their Christmas spread. There are jokes, laughter, the throwing of grapes at one another. For one night, there is no danger. There are no witches, no horsemen of the apocalypse, and no fears. Just for a moment, they haven't a care in the world.

_Have yourself a merry little christmas._

_May your heart be light._

_From now on, your troubles will be out of sight…_

_Have yourself a merry little Christmas._

_Make the yuletide gay._

_From now on, our troubles will be miles away._

* * *

A/N: This was supposed to just be a little filler chapter... That clearly didn't happen haha If I'm able to find the time, you'll be receiving multiple chapters in the next few days. Consider it my Christmas/belated Hanukkah present to you, lovely readers!

Yours truly,

Treklocked


	4. Chapter 4

Merry Christmas, everyone! This chapter has a bit of cussing in the beginning. I'm sorry in advance for Jenny's *ahem* colorful language. I have a Christmas chapter planned, but it definitely won't be out on the actual Christmas Day (today).

I told Santa I wanted Sleepy Hollow for Christmas. I'm still waiting.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

"It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now.

Said I wouldn't call but I've lost all control and I need you now.

And I don't know how I can do without.

I just need you now."

- _Need You Now_, Lady Antebellum

For quite possibly the hundredth time, Jenny Mills is on the phone, waiting for her sister to 'answer the damn phone'. She is lounging in one of the large armchairs in the Sleepy Hollow Public Library, feet hanging over the side. She twirls a pen while balancing the book in her lap and keeping the phone to her ear. A click is heard. "Hello?"

"Do you ever answer your phone for anyone besides your boss or your boyfriend?" Before Abbie can answer, Jenny continues. "Listen, I've been waiting for damn near two weeks for your response. Are you going to help me with the demon situation or not?"

"Demon situation? What are you talking about?"

"You know, Abbie, your phone has this magical thing called voicemail. You should listen to it sometime."

"Cut the sarcasm, Jenny. What's going on?"

"Since you clearly didn't get my message, I'll give you the short version of the story. I've got a couple of friends in town - teenagers, no parents, broke and in serious need of some R&R - who are being chased by demons. These demons are being sent by none other than your favorite demon. The head demon. He Who Shall Not Be Named."

"Moloch?"

"Exactly. Anyway, they need our help. They're scared as hell, and we're their only option. Will you help them or not?"

"Yeah, of course. Crane and I will meet up with them later."

"Why not now?" asks Jenny impatiently, running a hand through her messy curls.

"We have a case."

"Seriously?! Captain Pain-in-the-Ass gave you a case on Christmas Eve? What the hell?"

"Look, I'm not thrilled about it myself, but-"

"Hey, no worries," interrupts Jenny. "You two go save the world, stop the bad guys and avert the apocalypse. Call me later so we can set up a meeting."

"I will, I promise."

"Bye, Abs."

"Bye, Jen."

* * *

Abbie ends the call and slips her phone back into her pants pocket. The muddy hillside is slick from rain. With the weather getting cooler, the rain has formed patches of ice in certain locations, causing more than one officer on the scene to take a tumble. Abbie therefore uses caution when crossing the hill back to the abandoned cabin. The wooden home is isolated from the rest of the world, sleeping in a corner of Lokken County two miles outside of Sleepy Hollow. It overlooks a lake, which is currently being inspected by policemen. Where the road meets the dirt, a familiar face is waiting for Abbie. "Miss Mills."

"Crane. What are we looking at?"

"A local fisherman was out here early this morning when he noticed something particularly disturbing," he tells her as they make their way toward the water's edge. He promptly stops, as does his partner, and points. Her eyes follow. "A human hand, extending from the murky depths."

"Why hasn't it been pulled out yet for inspection?"

"That's the trouble, Leftenant. They have tried, but it cannot be removed. Something is holding it there."

"Like an insect caught in a spider's web," muses Abbie aloud.

"Precisely. Leftenant Collins is currently processing the fingerprints so the victim's family can be informed of their loved one's passing."

"You know what that means." Ichabod cocks his head to the side in silent question. "We've got some exploring to do." A gust of cold wind dances by them, jostling Ichabod's messy locks. The grey clouds, which blanket the world as far as the eye can see, part ever so slightly. The sunlight descends and finds her partner. His eyes, as brilliant a blue as the vast ocean, sparkle in the light. The brilliant blue brings to the forefront of Abbie's mind a face seen only in a dream…

**-Flashback-**

Grace Dixon was quick in action as she ushered a weakened Katrina Crane into the carriage. Lachlan's sanctuary was no more. Grace joined Katrina in the body of the carriage as it took off into the night. In her arms was newborn Jeremy Crane, pale green eyes shining as he gazed up at his caretaker. Katrina's arms were curled around herself as she tried to take even breathes. "Grace," she moaned. "I cannot bear this. It _hurts_. It hurts so _badly_."

"You can do this, Mrs Crane. Come on now. Breathe." Katrina let out a cry of agony as another contraction hit. While Katrina writhed in her seat, Grace lay down some blankets she'd grabbed as they fled. "It's time. I need you to push."

"I can't-"

"Katrina," she said sharply. "You can do this. Bring your child into this world. Give Jeremy a sibling." Weakly, the redhead nodded, and the pushing began. It was only minutes later that a beautiful baby girl was welcomed into the world. She was a calm child with the sky blue eyes of her father.

"She is beautiful," weeped Katrina as she cradled her newborn daughter. Jeremy remained in Grace's arms, sound asleep.

"What is her name?" asked the midwife.

"Sarah," she answered, brushing her thumb over the baby's cheek. "Her name is Sarah."

A voice broke through the tender scene. "Nearly there, madame."

"Thank you, Cole," acknowledged Grace.

"Where are we going?" asked the soldier's wife.

"Lachlan has a home out in the country. A cloaking spell has been cast over it. You and your children will be safe there. The darkness shan't be able to find you there."

Katrina clasped her hand. "Thank you, Grace Dixon. I owe you everything."

The woman smiled. "Think nothing of it."

**-Present-**

A knot in Abbie's stomach twists painfully. The desire to tell her partner about his other child is strong, but she refrains. 'It will only cause him more pain,' she tells herself. 'He's been through enough pain as it is.' A female shout is heard from behind them. "Lieutenant Mills!" Abbie turns to see a young policewoman walking toward her. Officer Lisa Metcalf is the mousy new member of the Sleepy Hollow PD. She is a quiet soul, but a hard worker, and has quickly gained a good reputation amongst the force. "I hear you and Mister Crane are taking the lead on this case?" she asks.

"We are indeed," confirms the Brit.

"I grew up in Lokken County. This case… Something isn't right."

"That's what we're hear to figure out, Officer," says Abbie, subtly dismissing the girl.

"Wait! I have something important to say," exclaims the woman. The Witnesses turn back to her. "It might sound a little...crazy...but maybe whoever did this used it as a cover."

"Used what as a cover?"

"There's this-this legend in the County. About a hundred years or so ago, a group of teenagers went out to this area for a party or something. They never came back. They say that something climbed out of the lake and swallowed them up. It wasn't natural...like something of a nightmare. This area is called Morte Paludem amongst locals."

Ichabod translates. "Death Swamp."

"It could be nothing, but I thought that maybe whoever did this might be trying to mimic the legend."

"We thank you for your assistance, madam," says Ichabod. The deputy nods before striding off. "Well, Miss Mills, it appears as though we may have a swamp monster on our hands."

"Either that, or a copycat killer."

"Well then," he says. "Let's get to work."

* * *

Room 108 is a complete and utter mess. Papers are scattered about randomly, and books lie in piles around the room. Remy is flipping through some notes while her brother lies on his bed, searching the web via his tablet.

"Anything?" she asks, combing a hand through her russet hair.

"Nothing new," he says.

"Damn."

"Here's what we've got so far," he says, swinging around so his legs dangle over the side of the bed. Remy does the same on her own bed, facing him. "Mom wants us to find the Elder's Script, but she didn't say what that meant. 'Elder' could either mean that it was written by an elderly person, or possibly someone who is an elder to the community, or even to us. 'Script' could be a number of things: a written document, a letter, a book, et cetera. It's probably a book, since witches have that MO, but we can't be sure."

"We need more information." Remy stands up, grabbing their cell phone off the dresser, and pulling an old sweater over her head. Both Remy and Nic are fitting into their clothes better these days. Having regular meals has virtually eliminated the withered, bony look they possessed when they first came to Jenny.

"Where are you going?"

"Public libraries always have sections for old stuff. If nothing else, maybe I can find us a clue. We're getting nowhere working off the tablet alone."

"I'll come with you," volunteers the young man.

"Nicolas Elijah Ichabod Crane, we've battled monsters and demons since we were kids. I think I'll be okay for a couple hours."

"Sarah Meredith Annabelle Crane," he teases. "It's not that I don't trust in your abilities, but I just don't think-"

"I'll be _fine_, broer. I promise."

He exhales sharply, knowing that he is fighting a losing fight. "Fine, fine. Call me if you find anything… No, I take that back. Call be when you get there."

"Okay, worry-wart! I will call you!" she concedes. "I'll see you in a few hours."

* * *

The cabin looks just about ready to fall down. The wooden walls are damp from the rain, but burn marks also blacken the walls. The doors has been violently kicked in, and lies on the floor. There is a single window overlooking the lake. The cabin is barren, save for a stove, cracked sink, and two twin cots.

"Not much to explore in here," comments Abbie after checking under the mattresses.

"Not much indeed," agrees Ichabod, stepping slowly around the room, observing. One scarred hand brushes over the walls. He stops next to the stove. "Hm."

"Crane?"

"This wall." He raps against the wood with his knuckles. "I don't believe that it is real." Giving the lumber a onceover, the Revolutionary proceeds to kick it with all he has. It gives way, revealing a stone stairwell. There is little light, save for that coming from outside the house.

"I've got a feeling I'm not gonna like whatever's down there," says Abbie, peering over Ichabod's shoulder.

"I share in the sentiment, Leftenant... Ladies first?" he smirks.

She smacks his shoulder. "Leave the sarcasm to my sister."

The smirk widens. "Very well." Descending the aforementioned creepy stairwell, the two Witnesses are met with a dark scene. The room is windowless and underground, thereby eliminating the possibility of light. The pair is forced to rely solely on their flashlights. The walls are grey stone with flecks of black. Painted on the walls in what looks to be blood are twisted symbols of varying sizes. Candles lay strewn throughout the room. At the center of the room is a small puddle of blood.

Abbie takes in the scene. "What the hell?"

"These are of a very dark magic," says Ichabod, pointing to the symbols. "A very dark magic indeed."

"Do you know what they're for?"

"I do. I remember reading about some trials in Salem, which occurred before I was ever born. Women were accused of witchcraft - though how many were _actual_ witches, I cannot say - and killed. A friend of mine at Oxford brought me a copy of some documents found in one of the accused's home. In it were symbols such as these, along with what lawmen could gather that they meant. These symbols here are used for summoning dark forces." He kneels down by one of the overturned candles, touching it lightly. "These candles were used very recently. I would venture a guess as to say that whatever killed our friend out in the lake was summoned from here."

"Oh goody. A swamp monster," groans Abbie. "And just in time for Christmas."

* * *

"Yeah, the library was a bust for Elder Script stuff. I'm on my way back now."

"Alright, Rem. See you soon." Looming clouds filter light, casting Sleepy Hollow into greyness. The wind has begun to pick up, causing Remy to hug her sweater closer to her body. The streets are relatively deserted, as the rainy weather has kept people indoors all day. A tumbleweed blows through the streets, making Remy chuckle at the irony.

Deciding to take a shortcut that she and Nic had discovered a week prior, Remy cuts through an alleyway. She stops short when a figure appears in her path. The air leaves her lungs as she sees the person's face. "Mama?"

"You haven't much time. You're being followed. Run, lieverd! _Run_!" Remy blinks, and her mother is gone. On alert, she can hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching. She breaks into a sprint, never looking back. A calling spell, created long ago by the man who gave her mother shelter in her time of need, leaves her lips as she runs. 'Help me, brother. I need you.' Six blocks pass underfoot before she needs to stop for a rest. This is her mistake. Just as she begins to slow down, blinding pain rips through her left shoulder. She falters, and once again is hit with pain, this time in her lower right leg. Falling forward, Remy bites her lip to prevent her screams from being heard. She looks around frantically for somewhere to hide. Seeing another alleyway, the bleeding young woman limps over before collapsing in the muddy darkness. One of her shaking hands grazes over the bullet wound in her leg, as if it had yet to register that she'd been shot. As her vision begins to fade, a flash of red enters her line of sight, a familiar spell meeting her ears, along with a message. "Blijven verborgen, mijn dochter. Ik hou van je."

And then she knew no more.

* * *

A/N: Lieverd = darling [in Dutch] I'll leave the translating up to you all on that final phrase ;) mwahaha

**REVIEWS ARE LOVE**. They also, believe it or not, actually push me to get chapters out quicker.


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